


Love Has Come For You

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Bartenders, M/M, also grantaire in a bar sounds really risky but hes not an alcoholic in my head in this ok, combeferre was supposed to be sweet but then he went all dominant on me and i just went with it, im not sure what this is tbh, theyre all really ooc i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 08:08:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I guess I can kiss heaven goodbye, ‘cause it must be a sin to look this good”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Has Come For You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [courageandcheer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/courageandcheer/gifts).



“I guess I can kiss heaven goodbye, ‘cause it must be a sin to look this good”

“Shut up, Courf,” Grantaire says, throwing a towel at the other man’s face with a grin. “Get over here, you’re late, you idiot.”

Courfeyrac rolls his eyes, stooping to pick up the towel and tossing it back to Grantaire.

“Don’t use that,” Bahorel says as he slides past behind Grantaire to the other side of the bar, a drink in each hand, and Grantaire rolls his eyes as well, grabbing a new towel. Courfeyrac hops over the counter, smirking at a girl who’s just come up to the bar.

“I’ll have a White Russian,” she says, smiling when Courf spins around and makes her drink. 

“White Russian,” he says as he slides the drink across the sleek mahogany and into her hand. “My favorite.”

“Really?” the girl asks arching an eyebrow.

“Well,” he concedes with a shrug. “I guess I’m more of a tequila kind of guy.”

She laughs as he winks and moves on to serve another customer, smirking lecherously at him as well.

A few hours into their shift, during a lull in business, Bahorel pulls Grantaire and Courfeyrac aside.

“Ok, so I dont usually do this,” he begins, ducking his head, and Courf and Grantaire exchange glances. “But I’ve invited some people to come tonight and—”

“Ooh, is Bahorel in love?” Grantaire coos, poking his boss in the ribs and making him squirm.

“Shut up, R,” Bahorel grumbles. “But yeah, uh, I met this guy a couple of days ago and he’s coming tonight with his friends.”

“How’d you meet him?” Courfeyrac asks as Grantaire goes to serve someone.

“I saw him sitting alone in the Musain so I just went up to him and we started talking.” Bahorel says and sighs dreamily. “He’s beautiful, Courf, really. He’s got long hair and green eyes and freckles and he’s perfect.”

“Wow, you really are in love, aren’t you?” Courfeyrac asks, slightly taken aback.

“Of course he is,” Grantaire says as he passes by. “He’s just a big romantic, if you look hard enough.”

Bahorel scowls and shuffles his feet, clearly embarrassed, and Courf throws his arm around the other man’s shoulders.

“Well I think he sounds awesome,” Courfeyrac says, and Bahorel grins. “Who knows, maybe he’ll bring some hot friends.”

They continue working for about 15 minutes, and Bahorel is obviously distracted, glancing at the clock every few minutes.

“Lighten up, man,” Grantaire says, and Bahorel whacks him with a towel. “I’m sure—”

“There they are!” Bahorel cuts in, running to the other side of the bar and waving at the trio who have just entered the establishment.

A short, long-haired boy waves back, bouncing over with a smile on his face, followed by two much taller men, a long-haired blonde man with stern eyes and a lean, sandy-haired, sweater-vested man.

Courfeyrac turns to say something to Grantaire, but the latter has frozen, and is staring at the blonde man as he slides onto a stool with an easy, lopsided grin.

Courfeyrac waves his hand in front of his friend’s face, and Grantaire snaps out of his daze.

“Jeez, man, keep it in your pants,” Courf says, grinning. “I can hear ‘I Can Hear the Bells’ playing in your head right now and it’s almost weird.”

Grantaire scowls, running a hand through his curls nervously, his gaze flicking from Courfeyrac to blondie and back again.

“What do I do?” he hisses.

“Go talk to him,” Courfeyrac shrugs. “There’s no harm in it. I’ll cover your end, if you want.”

Grantaire claps him on the back gratefully, takes a deep breath, mutters something to himself, and makes his way over.

Courfeyrac can hear them talking as he’s working, and almost can’t believe that Grantaire is actually wining blondie over by speaking French, of all things. Bahorel seems to be putting the charms on his boy too, and Courfeyrac can’t help but be a little jealous.

In another lull in business, after he’s pretty much taken care of all four people still in the bar, he decides that lean guy is much too quiet with Bahorel distracting shorty and Grantaire talking to blondie, and marches over to engage him.

“Hey,” he says, leaning over the counter and into the guy’s space a bit, smiling when he doesn’t recoil. “You got a name?”

“Combeferre,” the man says, and drags his eyes along the length of Courf’s body, smirking as he locks eyes with the other man over the rim of his glasses. “Who wants to know?”

Courfeyrac’s eyes widen infinitesimally, and his heart skitters. “The name’s Courfeyrac,” he says, feigning nonchalance as he leans back slightly and motions at Combeferre’s almost empty glass. “Do you want anything more to drink?”

Combeferre raises his drink to his lips, still not breaking eye contact with Courfeyrac, who is trying his best to keep his breathing at a relatively normal pace, and knocks back the rest of the liquid. 

(Courfeyrac certainly doesn’t follow the bob of the other’s Adam’s apple and swallow thickly in turn, that would be unprofessional.)

Combeferre puts the now empty glass on the counter, and leans forward onto his crossed arms, making Courfeyrac lean back unintentionally in counterpoint.

“Surprise me,” he murmurs, licking his lips and smirking. “Courfeyrac.”

Courfeyrac stands frozen for a moment, until Combeferre arches an eyebrow, which throws the bartender into motion. He whirls around and grabs the white rum, maraschino liqueur, grapefruit juice, lime juice, and syrup, pouring the different substances together into a cocktail mixer, along with some ice cubes. He shakes them for what feels like an eternity, the feeling of Combeferre’s gaze heavy on him as he works, and he reminds himself that this is his place of employment, and that he really shouldn’t be thinking about pulling the other man over the counter and into a heated kiss. 

He finally pours the drink with a flourish into a new glass, and slides it into Combeferre’s waiting hand. He picks it up by the stem of the glass, and swishes the foreign drink around in it.

“What is it?” he asks, and fuck his voice is like honey.

“Really?” Courfeyrac feigns surprise so as to collect himself a little before answering. “I thought someone like you might know it, I’m surprised you don’t—”

Combeferre leans forward quickly, wrapping the hand not delicately holding the cocktail around Courfeyrac’s tie, and pulling the bartender close, so their faces are only inches apart.

“What is it?” he asks again, voice low and dangerous and it takes everything Courfeyrac has not to close the distance between them.

Instead, he swallows hard and tries to keep his eyes from flicking down to Combeferre’s mouth every few seconds, and says in a slightly shaky voice, “It’s, uh,” he’s at a slight loss for words. “It’s a Hemmingway Daiquiri. Very good. Specially created for Hemmingway himself.”

Combeferre’s eyes seem to dance as he turns his head to take a sip of the cocktail, not giving Courfeyrac an inch of slack. 

Courfeyrac finds himself watching the movement of the other man’s swallow again, – not that he was before, of course—completely enthralled.

“Hmm,” the bespectacled man hums low in his throat, sounding amused. “It’s not bad.”

“It’s the white rum,” Courfeyrac explains as Combeferre lets go of his hold on the other’s tie, letting him move back. “Gives it a nice bite.”

Combeferre smirks as he takes another sip of the drink. “I’m sure there’s more than the white rum in this bar that has a nice bite,” he says, and winks.

Courfeyrac stands stunned for a moment, before he shakes his head vigorously. 

“You know what, ok,” he says, and tosses the towel off his shoulder and in the general direction of his boss and co-worker. “I’m going.”

Combeferre looks delightedly smug as he downs the rest of his drink and gets up, fishing for a bill in his pocket.

“What?” Bahorel asks, incredulous, but Grantaire elbows him in the gut to get him to shut up, nodding at their friend, who hasn’t even spared them a glance, eyes only on Combeferre.

Courfeyrac runs a quick hand through his hair and jumps over the bar, striding eagerly over to the door to join the other man outside.

Combeferre leads the way out, and the others in the bar watch as Courfeyrac all but tackles him in a desperate kiss that ends up backing them into the alley beside the bar.

Courfeyrac pushes them up against a wall, but Combeferre breaks the kiss to reverse their positions and pin the slightly smaller man’s wrist against the bricks at shoulder height and kiss him again, possessive and talented and Courfeyrac wants to faint.

They continue like that for God only knows how long, Courfeyrac trying half-heartedly to break from Combeferre’s hold, and delighting in only ever being pushed even more firmly into the wall.

Finally Combeferre pulls away slightly, breaking the kiss and chuckling darkly when Courfeyrac chases after it with a whimper.

“Ah ah, now, let’s not get greedy,” Combeferre warns with a smirk. “Now—your place or mine?”

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so yes hi
> 
> Alright this is for Kim (combeferree.tumblr.com) for our one week anniversary ♥ 
> 
> The title is stolen from the title of Steve Martin's new album (??? idk either) and the opening quote is something i like to say a lot and bother my mother with but it's from The Fresh Prince of Bel Air
> 
> Dom!Ferre is always gonna be the best thing if you disagree then you're wrong
> 
> I feel like they're all very OOC but i dont even care anymore its fun
> 
> But yes if you'd like you can come say hello over on tumblr, im at marcobodttt


End file.
